2014 #118

The scent in the corridor
hinting of damp dead fur
aroused as you can let’s hope
understand a hackle
we would call concern, having seen
your smile not less than two

if not three sunsets since-
if the scent was of sweet death
recall the hoarder from the salad
of the first full summer
though that chest was carried to the cellar
to join all the other dreams

that let’s admit do cling to a few
pictures if a bit embittered-
so quiz who yet shuffle
who landed in infancy
and flaunted living faithless,
fanatics about it no less

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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